


Drowning In All That Sunlight

by darkerwings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Fluff, M/M, Portuguese, Rimming, Spanking, Travel, there's a lot of sunshiny flirty boys and it's all v lovely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkerwings/pseuds/darkerwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is fascinated with learning Portuguese, Louis is fascinated with Harry, and Lisbon seems like as good a place as any to fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Always Be Right Here

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise!! This wouldn’t have been possible without Cat, my own personal translator and confidant - thank you for sending me all sorts of pictures, for helping me plan bits of this out, and for helping me keep it a secret! Speaking of which... This is for my very own portuguese and lisbon-loving lil bumble, Bea! I really hope you like it, and I hope your birthday is so incredibly amazing. I wish I could be over there to give you 19 hugs and kisses, but for now I am sending you all the love, and a couple other things in the mail (hint hint!) I love you to the moon and beyond, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABES!
> 
>  **Quick Reminders** : 1. This is fiction, not meant to be taken as fact or any kind of presumption about reality whatsoever! Do **not** send this to the boys, or anyone even remotely close to them. 2. **Don't** repost my work and **don't** translate it (as far as translating goes, [here](http://darkerwings.tumblr.com/translating) is why I don't allow it) - I have my ways of looking through sites and finding my fics, and I have reported and gotten people kicked off for stealing my work before, I won't hesitate to do it again. 3. Thank you for taking an interest in my writing and supporting me by clicking whatever link it is that brought you here, now happy reading!

Harry’s never been much of one for the traditional route.

He likes the idea of following where your heart takes you, while still being smart about it. Along with that, he likes the image he’s presented with now: Des’ old hand-me-down leather bags packed with his belongings by his bedroom door. His soft mint green sheets folded at the foot of his bed, his Harry Potter calendar hanging on his closet door - slightly askew after he’d tripped and bumped into the wall while putting his socks on. He’s left his posters up, mostly for his Mum so she can still picture him here, but in all honesty he can’t think of any better place for his life size portrait of Beckham to hang. His childhood is all packed up, and he’s looking at the bare bones of it.

More than anything, though, he likes the idea of Portugal.

“Harry!” A voice calls from the bottom of the stairs. “Zayn’s here, are you ready?”

“Yes, Mum! Coming!” He hurriedly triple checks under his bed for any last minute knickknacks he might’ve forgotten. A pile of Lisbon travel pamphlets sits in a heap on his desk chair, each of them talking in detail about the different attractions of the city - the Rua Augusta Arch, the Statue of Christ watching over the Tagus river, the Belém tower, among many others. He bumps his head on his corner desk as he stands back up, just like every other time he’s ever gone looking for something that’s fallen between the cracks. He won’t miss that one bit. He eyes the rain clouds outside through his window and clenches his fists in the material of his favorite lavender sweater, heaving a sigh as he gives his room one last look.

“Harry!” Mum calls again, voice sounding less frustrated and more anxious.

“Alright, alright!” He calls back. He mutters under his breath, “kill a guy for being sentimental and all.”

“Plenty of time to be sentimental on the plane, mate.” A voice answers him, and seriously, fuck Zayn and his knack for not making any noise.

“Christ, mate.” Harry clutches his chest. “Scared me.”

Zayn just smiles back at him, a small crinkle around his eyes. “Better get down there, she’s nervous baking again.”

Harry laughs at that, scratching the back of his neck as he gives his room one last nostalgic once over. “Figures, I knew she didn’t have me pick up nutmeg for nothing.”

“Can’t blame her for getting ready to say goodbye to her only son.” Zayn picks up one of his bags, thin fingers gripping the handles tightly. Harry feels a nervous quiver in his stomach, because it’s really time. After months of planning, this is it, he’s doing it.

“Gem will be home later this month.” He manages to say around the frog in his throat, looking to shift the subject.

Zayn doesn’t respond for a few seconds, and Harry realises he’s fucked up a bit with his choice in topics all too late.

“Yeah? How’s she been?” Zayn makes to head for the stairs, avoiding Harry’s eyes.

Harry hides a small, proud smile as he scratches his nose, before grabbing the rest of his bags and shuffling out of the room after him. “She’s been good, proper tan, even got purple hair now. All that Miami sunshine changes a person, I guess.”

Zayn nods, and Harry thinks that’s progress. The breakup hadn’t been awful, but Zayn had been the one left behind when Gemma’d decided to pursue her Marine Biology degree in America instead keeping on with it here at home. They’d only dated for a little over half a year, but it’d been enough to leave Zayn quieter than usual for a long while after she’d gone. Harry supposes a big part of his recovery can be credited to Niall, but Zayn’s told him time and again that he and Niall aren’t anything official. Not yet at least.

“Now, I’ve got a few banana and orange scones for you to take with you both on the trip,” Mum says when they get down into the kitchen. Harry should’ve known that even with the long leadup this still wouldn’t be easy. “Zayn, I’ve wrapped a few tins of cookies for you to take to the girls when you get to Pakistan.”  

Zayn shakes his head when she hands them over, but the smile on his face shows that he’s grateful. “Thank you, Anne.”

“Well,” she breathes, maybe for the first time in a while. “From what your mum’s told me, a few sweets on Eid never hurt anybody.”

Dusty meows by his food bowl next to the refrigerator, before coming to wind his way through Harry’s legs lazily, tail tickling his bare calves. Zayn chuckles softly and Harry fidgets with his bag straps.

They stand there silently for a few long moments, before Harry hears her sniffle and immediately feels horrible for being such a dunce about all of this. When his eyes snap up, he sees that Zayn has taken to stuffing the cookie tins in his backpack, and Anne is now wiping her wet eyes on her bundled pink apron, dusting flour off of her forearms.

“Oh, Mum.” He feels his throat get a bit tight.

“Come here, then.” She motions for him to shuffle into her embrace, and he does gladly. She smells like soft citrus and home. He’s going to miss her so much. “My baby,” she whispers into his hair.

“Thank you for everything.” He says, and kisses her cheek.

“I’m so proud of you,” she tells him, drawing back to look him in the eye before crushing him to her chest again. Yeah, Harry’s eyes are a bit wet as well now. “So, so proud, Harry.”

“I’ll only be a skip across the channel.” He tells her quietly. “And I’ll be home for the holidays.”

“You and your sister will both be tanner than I’ve ever been by then.” She laughs, and her eyes flick to the oven clock. “But it looks like it’s time for you two to shove off.”

“I’ll go ‘nd load the car.” Zayn volunteers, and Mum gives him a nod and a smile in return.

Harry sniffs a bit, and rubs his eyes to keep them from welling over. He’s eighteen, he should have better control over his emotions by now. He’s always been his mum’s boy, though. He should’ve known this wouldn’t be easy.

“Oh, Harry.” Mum hugs him close again, and he wraps his arms around her tightly, feeling for all the world like he’s homesick already.

“Thank you for supporting me, for supporting this, all of it.” He says, shaking his head. “It’s a bit mad, I know, but-”

“Of course we support you, darling.” She interrupts immediately, her eyes glinting some of the early morning sunlight back at him. “Robin and I are so happy that you’ve decided to pursue what you’re passionate about, don’t question it for a second. Your dreams are so important, and Lisbon is such a beautiful city, it’s perfect for you to find yourself in.”

He doesn’t know how else to process how excited, nervous, and unbelieving he is. All he can do is hug her one last time and say, “I hope so,” as Zayn comes back in for the rest of his bags.

He’s got a new city to move to, roommates to meet, and a flight to catch in two hours. Best not be late.

~*~ 

Harry’s still a bit shaken from the flight when they manage to stuff all of his bags, Zayn’s carry-on, and themselves into a small cab. Given that he’s said goodbye to the only home he’s ever known, to his Mum, all in the last five hours he’s a bit winded.

“Mate, move _over_.” Zayn grumps.

“There isn’t any room, _mate_.” He grouches back at him, cheek already pressing against the glass of the taxi window. He’s got a bag full of books in his lap that weighs at least 300 pounds, and Harry doesn’t know why in the hell Zayn thinks his sisters need five different copies of _To Kill A Mockingbird_ but apparently he thought enough of it to plop the heavy weight right on Harry’s groin.

“Just move your-” Zayn’s grumbling, kicking at Harry’s leg, which only fits in the backseat at all in its current position between Zayn’s ribs and his armpit.

“No I can’t, didn’t you hear that I’ve got fuck all space over here,” Harry grunts, his curls getting snagged in the window that’s half open. “Just be glad you sent your stuff with your parents when they left last week, otherwise it’d be out on the street-”

“Fuck you, this is what I get for staying behind to help you move? I’m buried under your leopard print luggage you dick-”

“Oh, _right_! Because being able to see your Irish boyfriend isn’t a factor in this _at all_ -”

“Para onde?” The driver, a woman with tangled dark chocolate hair falling past her shoulders, asks in an expectant tone, efficiently breaking them out of their spat. Oh. Harry’s in Lisbon. It’s happening.

Zayn turns his gaze to him, a bit fish mouthed with the question of what they were just asked poised on his pouty lips. Harry’s smirk immediately stretches from here to Hong Kong, and Zayn rolls his eyes dramatically.

Harry clears his throat, “Alfama, por favor.”

It feels like the beginning of something, but he can’t quite say what.

“Show off,” Zayn mumbles, but prods him in the thigh fondly with a press of his knuckles. Harry just keeps grinning. The last thing he sees before dozing off on Zayn’s shoulder is that they’re passing by the São Bento Palace, and maybe that’s enough to put him at ease for now.

~*~

Harry knew coming over that the flat he’d be staying in would be cramped, but he never expected it to be so beautiful.

In all honesty, he’s only seen pictures of the inside of it up until now. He’s seen the narrow front hallway, with brass hooks for hanging coats along the red wine colored walls. He’s seen how that leads to a living room made up of a loveseat couch and coffee table, with a dated flat screen hanging above an old style fireplace. He’s seen the egg-yolk yellow kitchen that sits behind all of that, and the short hallway off the left that leads to two dorm sized bedrooms, one bathroom, and a spiral staircase which leads up to Niall’s loft.

But he’s never seen this part.

Zayn and he had gotten out of the cab down the way, only being able to go so far before the cobblestone streets turn into designated walkways and tram tracks. They’d hauled Harry’s luggage down a sidestreet that led them to a few rows of flats all jumbled together like jigsaw pieces - one of which had a shamrock stuck to the front door. Niall _had_ said he’d give them some indicator.

There are wilted hanging flower baskets dangling outside a few of the windows facing the street, all of them shifting slightly in the breeze as they haul all of Harry’s material possessions across the street. All the flats are nestled neatly together, all faded white in color with gorgeous red shingled roofs that reflect the July sun like heat from a fire. Harry can feel his skin getting a few shades darker already.

“This it, then?” He asks, because Zayn knows better than he does, has been here countless times in the last year or so.

Zayn’s still smiling at the plastic shamrock staring back at them from the street, and Harry hears a tram bell ring a few streets down. He can’t wait to have a look around, all hints of his nap in the cab forgotten.

“This is it alright.” Zayn says, and just as they’re about to ascend the steps the front door comes bursting open, and all Harry can catch is a blur of blonde hair and tan skin.

“Zayn!” Is all he hears as Zayn lets out a quiet squeak of surprise. That’ll be Niall, then.

Harry turns back to see that Niall has absolutely nothing but his loose boxers on, and is twirling Zayn around like he’s Christ come early. Given that Zayn’s still got his hands up in surprise and a blush creeping up on his cheeks, Harry can’t keep from keeling over in laughter.

“Missed you,” Niall is saying, completely non-plussed by Harry’s current state of absolute amusement. He’s got Zayn’s legs hitched around his hips now, hands on Zayn’s sides, steadying him. Zayn’s bags are dropped to the street, forgotten in the moment. “Feels like it’s been ages. Too long.”

“Hi, Ni.” Harry hears Zayn’s soft voice answer as Harry picks himself up a bit, and goes to grab for his dropped bags. “Missed you, too.”

As Harry hikes his bag up on his shoulder and turns back to see if they’re ready to head in, still not introducing himself or saying anything for fear of disrupting such a genuinely heartwarming scene, he catches them sharing a quick kiss. Zayn’s got his hands on Niall’s jaw, light like butterfly wings, almost. Harry would only think that if he was a romantic. Which he totally _isn’t_.

Niall looks like he’s relaxing for the first time in weeks, with one of his hands in Zayn’s hair. Harry’s starting to understand why he’s been growing it out lately, if this is a regular occurrence, which by the looks of it - and for Zayn’s sake - Harry hopes it is. His stomach flip flops, half in happiness that his best friend finally has something like this, and half in longing. He won’t be admitting to the later any time soon, though.

He doesn’t stir for a moment, gathering up his thoughts as well as the rest of his bags, before clearing his throat in the most nonintrusive way possible. Zayn breaks the kiss and burrows himself into Niall’s neck, looking content and privately calmed. Niall kisses his temple and turns to finally see Harry standing there, feeling for all the world like he’s torn apart the most intimate moment he’s ever seen.

“Harry!” Niall greets him as if there isn’t a very uncharacteristically cuddly Zayn still on his hip. Harry likes Niall already. “Good t’see ya!”

“Hey, Niall, how’re you?” He asks in return, stepping down and closing the distance between them to fist bump Niall’s free hand. They’re being bros, Harry can totally make friends easily, he’s a charmer. He’s got this. Zayn opens one eye at him and gives him a small smile that says _I know you’re nervous about this, ha ha you tosser_.

“Good, mate! M’good, even better now.” He says, his Irish accent thick through the grin he’s sporting. He gives Zayn a quick peck on the cheek that makes the other boy squirm and kick out his legs a bit, still smiling into Niall’s collarbone. Harry’s so happy for him, honestly. “But I suppose we ought to properly move ya in before we talk any more about me, huh?”

“Sounds good to me, bro.” Right, things are going smoothly. No need to freak himself out over meeting the guy he’s been planning on moving in with for close to a year now. No need to make sure he’s still welcome. Pssh, everything’s cool.

All three of them grab different pieces of Harry’s luggage, and Niall carries Zayn’s bags to boot. Harry would call him Casanova, but he’d like to move in off the street first _before_ Zayn kicks his ass.

The inside of the flat is warm with a draft coming in through the window in the kitchen, which actually faces down a back alley way which leads to the sea. It smells like lemongrass and roasted chicken, so something must be baking in the oven. Once they all shuffle through the small hallway and into the living room Harry can see that there are two beer bottles on the counter, and that there’s a game of Fifa paused on the telly. Looks like their other roommate is here right now as well, then.

“You can set my things down in the kitchen, if you’d like, babe.” Zayn calls to Niall from behind Harry.

“Sure thing,” Niall answers. “Harry your room is the first one down the hall, I washed the sheets n’everything, so you should be good to go.”

“Cheers,” he calls back as he excitedly heads down the hall.

The two rooms are on the right side of the hall, Niall's spiral staircase dead ahead, while the black and white tiled bathroom sits opposite them. He can hear the shower running and some light singing coming from the other side of the door, so he figures he’ll hurry about unpacking his bags and stock his part of the bathroom later.

His room is painted a midnight blue color, contrasting with the bold color palate of the rest of the flat nicely. He’s got a small closet without a door, and a dark wooden dresser opposite a twin size bed and a wobbly looking night stand. The window that is open across from him in the doorway is framed by white lace drapes, and it’s what captures his attention most. While the kitchen window was facing down towards the sea, Harry’s window faces a neighborhood garden which is vibrant with shades of greens, purples, and reds. His room smells like a floral shop, he must’ve died and gone straight into Nirvana because this is it for him. He fucking loves this city.

He breathes it all in for a good minute or so, a smile creeping onto his lips, before deciding to unpack his clothes first. He hauls out his blazers and dress shirts, his jumpers and band tees, and his two pairs of skinny jeans. He gets all of his camera gear set inside the top drawer of the dresser and puts his polaroid on the nightstand, stashing his luggage under the bed before turning to head back towards the kitchen.

Just as the bathroom door straight across from him whips open the reveal the cause of his death.

No, honest to god, he must’ve ascended to some higher plane, otherwise there’s no explanation for how he’s seeing the angel in front of him right now. The boy - well, no, he isn’t young looking in a boyish way, so Harry’ll have to go with calling him a man - before him is tanned from head to toe, unlike Niall he doesn’t look like he’s simply been working under the sun for a while, he looks like he was _bathed_ in it. Harry doesn’t mean to do a full on inventory check, but his eyes are taking in as much as they can on their own accord. He’s got these toned calves that look like he could run a mile without breaking a sweat. The only thing that’s keeping him from being full-on-fucking-naked is a white towel wrapped securely around his hips, sitting just below where his subtle abs are clenched as he’s twisted around to pull the light cord that’s near the door. Harry only just manages to snap his eyes up to the stranger’s face as he faces forward and catches sight of him.

“Um.” Is what comes out of Harry’s mouth. Maybe now he remembers why he was nervous about all this in the first place.

The man looks back at him with a mild expression of initial surprise that then turns into a warm kind of amusement. The amount of weight this stranger’s attention holds is daunting, and he feels like fidgeting under the focus of it. His eyes track up and down Harry’s frame quickly before snapping back into the - what Harry feels to be - intense glance between them. When he speaks it’s with an accent that tells him that he wasn’t raised too far from where Harry’s just left. A Yorkshire lad, from the sounds of it. Awesome, brilliant, fantastic. They can talk about football and do what bro-pals do best.

“I’m guessing from the smell of the airport and your tired eyes that you’re the one Niall mentioned would be joining us?”

“Yeah, hey.” He gives an awkward wave and immediately wants to run down the alley and dive head first into the Atlantic. “I’m Harry, um, Harry Styles.”

“Well hey, Harry.” He steps forward, crossing his arms over his chest. Shit, he’s got biceps that look like they could lift up a piano, or a mountain, or… something really heavy. Harry can’t think straight. And Christ, he’s got all manner of tattoos inked into his skin, all still glistening from the shower. Harry is also very aware of the towel that is beginning to ride a bit lower on the man’s hips. He should not be thinking this way about his newly minted roommate, who he’s only just _met_ , or rather is still in the process of meeting. He just _really_ wants to feel the scruff that is dusted along this man’s chin. “I’m Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry does his best to tone his smile down. Louis. He loves that name. “Well, Louis, it looks like we’ll be sharing a wall for a little while.”

“Hopefully that isn’t all we’ll be sharing.” Louis blurts, and Harry snaps his eyes back to his at once. From the looks of it, Louis hadn’t meant for that to be said aloud. Harry can feel a blush creeping up his neck, and suddenly his sweater feels much too warm in the July heat. Louis seems to take stock of this and his mouth quirks into a smug line. Fuck, Harry’s never been good at hiding things.

He clears his throat and shakes out his hair anxiously. “Right, well, I’ll um, just let you get back to dressing yourself, then.” He’s never this awkward, he’s smooth as silk, normally. He mentally gives himself a pep talk, trying to rally back. “Although, I’d honestly rather you didn’t.”

As he walks away, he hears a soft curse being muttered under Louis’ breath. Nailed it. Harry Styles might’ve come here to take names, perfect his portuguese, and catalog the city, but no one ever said he couldn’t have a little fun as well.

~*~

Harry’s subtle. Really, he is. Totally under the radar.

Or at least he thinks he is until he slips back into the living room and takes a seat on the loveseat, tucking his knees up to his chest and reaching for the remote. He’s trying to figure out how to change the channel to something local, wants to get the full effect of being in it.

“What’s he smirking about?” Zayn asks loudly.

“Louis just got out of the shower.” Niall says simply. Harry’s face is Christmas red without a second’s notice.

“What! That doesn’t, I wasn’t-” He’s turned ‘round to face back at the two of them. He hasn’t even known Niall formally for an _hour_ , how could he _know_?

“Whoa there, bro.” Niall responds to his indignant outburst. “I’m just saying, Lou isn’t the best at keeping himself to himself, y’know? Was thinking he probably startled you.”

Niall raises an eyebrow at him and takes a sip of beer before going to check the oven. Zayn’s eying him knowingly, with a hint of hesitation. He’ll be getting talked to about this before the day is up, he’s sure. Which, speak of the devil.

“Welcome back to our humble abode, Zaynie.” Louis fucking Tomlinson comes swinging into the kitchen wearing loose sweatpants, a tight fitting black t-shirt, and a shit-eating grin. “Try not to leave your undergarments on the balcony this time, please? The last pair fell and smothered my peonies.”

Louis hands Zayn some bundled up boxers and winks at him. So he’s the one who tends to the garden, then. Harry’s heart is maybe beating a little more quickly now. He loves fresh flowers.

“I’ll do my best.” Zayn says, not even bothering to look apologetic.

“Roasted chicken tonight, Lou.” Niall tells him as Louis picks up his beer and goes to grab a few things out of the refrigerator. “Should be ready by half six.”

“Cool, smells great.” Louis says, “I’ve got some fresh romaine from the garden for a salad, sound good?”

Harry’s stomach rumbles quite obnoxiously, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten since he had a small bag of pretzels on the plane. All heads turn to look at him, Zayn laughing quietly, Niall cackling, and Louis huffing out something which Harry wants to say is a fond breath. But. He knows better.

“Someone’s hungry, it seems.” Louis says, and Harry feels very much like the youngest one here.

Instead of voicing anything to do with that, he gets up to join Zayn at the counter, sitting on one of the bar stools. It feels odd to be watching the work in the kitchen instead of being in the middle of it. He and mum are always the ones who love preparing everything for the family. He's watching Niall and Louis work together, but mostly he’s watching Louis nimbly pull apart the romaine leaves in the sink. “You didn’t have to go all out for us, really.”

Niall shrugs with his back to them, and Zayn is looking at him with his chin perched in his palm.

“Have to practice the recipes for the bar, anyhow.” Niall says, “construction’s nearly done. Won’t be long now, and we'll need to have the recipes ready soon.”

Harry nods, remembering what Zayn had told him about Niall’s history in Lisbon. His family has owned the flat for generations, used to use it as a summer cottage where they’d spend the warmer months fishing and making a good profit to last them through the winter back in Ireland. Now that Niall’s twenty-one his brother has given it down to him, charging him with looking after it for the family. Niall just recently finished up uni for business and architecture, and from what Zayn has told him he’s restoring an old fisherman’s shack with a few of his uni friends down near the ocean and turning it into a bar and home meal restaurant. Of course, he can’t pay the rent and keep everything in the flat in order along with trying to start his own business, hence the need for two roommates.

“Besides, we have to celebrate baby Harry here’s big move,” Louis says, immediately drawing back Harry’s attention. Louis' expression says he’s serious, but his tone says something else. “It’s a big step, going off from home.”

“I can handle it.” Harry says without thinking. Even to his own ears he sounds defensive.

Zayn nudges his foot gently, and Louis’ eyebrows pinch slightly before dropping his gaze. It's all Harry can do to quietly let out a breath.

~*~

Dinner is all wine stained lips on Harry's part. Zayn and Niall feed each other bites of chicken, and rugby banter flies between Niall and his friend from uni that's stopped by, Liam.

"How'd you two meet, again?" Liam pipes up during a lull in the conversation, motioning his fork between Zayn and Niall. He's the only one out of the five of them that grew up here properly in Lisbon, Zayn told him before Liam arrived that his parents moved here from Wolverhampton when Liam was still only just learning how to walk. Harry loves hearing his accent dance around his impeccable english. "I asked Niall a while back but he was pretty cryptic about it."

"I was not cryptic!" Niall exclaims. "I'm just a very private person, s'all."

Zayn snorts into his wine and has to cough into his napkin before he can respond. "Babe, you're the farthest thing from it."

"Only private about important things, our Nialler is." Louis says, smiling at the way this is all unfolding. Harry thinks the way he has his sleeves rolled up might be the hottest thing he's seen since Beckham's H&M advert.  

Niall's shaking his head, and Zayn takes the lead on this one. "He probably was saving me some embarrassment, because he quite literally found me in a dumpster."

"What?" Liam's voice is excited, and Harry might've found the only group of early twenty yearolds who find funny relationship stories and fine dinning as charming as he does.

"Harry was still finishing his schooling, and I was meant to pick him up. But I was working on a project and I knew that the art classes always would get rid of their spoilt paints and such in the back bins behind a fence off by the school's side entrance." Zayn looks to his left to find Niall smirking back at him. "He was there to speak about the importance of... what was it? Irish culture in music, or something?"

"Irish folk music influencing modern day music in mainstream pop." Harry answers, even though it'd been directed at Niall. To the questioning gazes he gets in return, he says, "It was for my class, but I was sick that day."

"Heard some rustling and thought maybe there was an animal caught in the wire behind the fence, maybe." Niall shrugs, "turns out it was just this little raccoon, foraging around for scraps."

"Sexiest raccoon you've ever met." Zayn scrunches his nose.

"Can't deny that." Niall kisses his cheek.

"But why were you in Holmes Chapel to begin with? Bit unnecessary to stop between Mullingar and here, isn't it?" Liam prods.

"Nah, my brother lives in Liverpool, so I figured I'd give 'im a visit last year. Old friend of mine called me for a favor at the school and I figured it wasn't too awful of a drive." Niall's holding Zayn's hand under the table. "Glad I made it, though."

Harry doesn't understand how they are not married yet.

"How're you not married yet?" Louis voices. Harry mentally facepalms at the outburst, although he is silently aware of the fact that Louis just basically read his thoughts. They've known each other almost three hours now. Baby steps.

Zayn clears his throat. "Dishes, anyone?"

Harry’s feeling quite sleepy by the time he’s finished eating, a belly full of wonderful food and rich wine not really helping much. All throughout the remainder of dinner Louis had kept his eyes down on his plate, probably keeping more of his thoughts silent after things had been briefly awkward. Harry knows with some large part of his brain that he shouldn’t be so aware of someone he’s only just met. But he can’t help his gaze from drifting over to the way Louis holds his knife and fork. The way he wipes his lips every now and then after he’s taken a few bites, like he’s a goddamn prince at a high table or something. Harry should probably tone down his thoughts a little bit.

Once they’ve all set their dishes in the sink, Zayn and Niall move to take up the loveseat, Liam sliding down against the wall to their left, which leaves Louis sitting in the lazy chair and Harry pointedly _not_ resting back against his calves. The mood of the group seems unaffected and settled, content to simply be in each other's presence.

Niall switches the channel to Sky Sports and turns the volume down, breaking off his last couple of words to Zayn before turning to face Harry full on. “So, Harry.”

Harry levels with him. “Niall.”

Niall chuckles easily, and Harry feels some of the anxious energy in his stomach quell. “Portuguese, then. Show us what you’ve got.”

He feels Louis move in the chair behind him, and tries not to shift in a way that makes it obvious just how much of his attention is drawn to the other man’s series of movements. “I’m not sure how exactly I could show it off, I mean.”

“Here, we’ll test you. Sound good?” Liam chips in, and Harry is grateful for it.

“Don’t let it go to his head,” Zayn murmurs loudly enough. “He’s a right exhibistionist, loves the attention.”

Harry just laughs and throws him a smirk, but Louis’ incessant shifting halts. Harry doesn’t fail to take notice of it.

“Something simple, tell us where you’re from, and which team you’re backing.”

He takes a breath, shrugging through it. “Olá eu sou Harry, de Holmes Chapel em Cheshire e sou pelo Real Madrid.”

“Bro, that’s good!” He hears a low groan at his choice of team, but Liam smiles at him. How is it that he’s hardly even been here half a day and he already feels at home?

“Now a fun fact about you, go!” Niall’s laughing with it.

“Um…” Harry’s chuckling as he thinks. “Uma vez, quando era mais pequeno, fui atacado por uma cabra que me mordeu o rabo, e hm… Oh! O meu doce preferido é alcaçuz de morango.”

“How long’ve you been speaking it for, did you say?” Niall asks, clearly impressed. Liam is in stitches over his goat story, and Zayn is shaking his head, getting up to go for a smoke.

“Since I was fifteen, I think? Maybe a little younger.”

“Do your favorite poem, H.” Zayn calls as he goes out the door.

“Poem?” He hears behind him, and Harry’s head whips around quickly to see Louis looking curious, his phone loose in his hand on the contacts screen.

“Yeah… I uh, like poetry a lot.” He shrugs.

Louis’ eyes flicker over his face, and if it were possible for someone’s gaze to physically warm a person, Harry swears he’s feeling something here.

“Well, get on with it, then.” He’s told, Louis’ eyes blinking more slowly than they had been. Louis wants to hear it, okay, right… but Louis is also still mostly a stranger to him. He shouldn’t feel like he has to rush to pull it up in his memory any more than usual.

He still does.

“It’s actually a poem by a less known poet, Tyler Knott Gregson? I just… well, when I was still just starting with the language I would read it all the time to myself when I was still struggling with sentence constructs and all that. Not to say that I’m any kind of an expert, I mean otherwise why would I be here, right? I just really loved it so-”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis says with an amused laugh, but it keeps him from rambling any further.

Harry’s neck is still craning back to see him, but Louis nods, eyelids looking heavy and eyes looking dark in the evening light. There are candles burning on the table still, and the moon is shedding a pool of light over the kitchen sink, but right now all he sees is the magnetic line of contact between where Louis’ fingers are resting by his thigh, and how easily his hand would fit in Harry’s.

He cuts the tentative thread between them to look down at his phone. He can hear the tram heading down a sidestreet, can smell the sea. “Estava a murmurar as palavras ‘Vou sempre encontrar-me aqui mesmo,’ na segurança da minha boca enquando engasgos saíam secos da tua garganta, ‘mais ninguém és tu’ foi a última coisa que ouvi antes do meus lábios silenciarem os teus.”

There’s silence when he’s finished, and then there’s a hand in his hair, petting over his curls and soothing some unknown tension that had been residing in his shoulders. Fuck, that feels good. Louis’ touch feels so good.

“Shit, man.” Liam’s the one to speak first. “Who knew eighteen year olds could be so deep?”

“I feel like clapping, a bit.” Niall chimes in.

“Don’t let ‘im fool you, he’s every bit as immature as you’d think he’d be.” Zayn chirps, a laugh in his voice as he returns back to his spot under Niall’s arm. “He made a fucking knock knock joke to the attendant on the plane over, bloody awful.”

Harry’s feeling a bit hot under all the attention focused on him, but he rolls with it. If it gets them all to break the ice, why not.

“Well he’s got a way with words, ya gotta give him that, babe.” Niall says.

“He does have quite the mouth on him, doesn’t he?” Louis voices, and Harry’s entire body goes taut.

No one else seems to have been listening to his soft commentary, though. As Liam has just taken a phone call, and Niall and Zayn are now discussing Zayn’s plans for when he leaves in a few days to meet his family for Eid. Harry slowly turns back, once again, and finds Louis with no sense of abandon, simply staring back at him with heavy eyes.

“Nobody likes a tease, Louis.” He’s getting braver every time he opens his mouth in Louis’ direction, like he’s possessed by some need to make sure the silence doesn’t drown them. He loves Louis’ voice. He, shit, no he doesn’t, or at least he really, really shouldn’t.

“Don’t know how you’ve managed to get everyone in this room to fall for you, then.” Louis chips back.

All Harry can manage is, “everyone?”

Louis’ expression flickers with something new, now. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see about that, won’t we?”

~*~

Not even a half hour later Liam comes back to say that his girlfriend needs help with something in her own flat. He leaves after bidding everyone goodnight, taking a moment to tell Harry that he’s glad he got to meet him. When he steps back from their crouched hug he throws Louis a glance that Harry just barely catches, but it looks pointed. If he wasn’t on the brink of unconsciousness he’d question it more thoroughly, but as it is the soft sounds of Amy Lewis discussing the newest trade overs for Manchester United are lulling him under. Harry falls asleep with Louis scratching pleasantly at the skin on his shoulders and neck, while listening to Niall talk about his business plans.

If he was conscious he’d know that it was Zayn who volunteered to wake him and tell him to get off to bed, but that it was Louis who replied with a short, “I’ve got him.” He’d know that Louis carried him to his room, and if he hadn’t been snoring softly on his shoulder he’d feel him brush back the hair off his face before tucking him in. He'd know that Louis has left him a glass of water to wake up to, and a note to the side that reads:  _passeio pela cidade hoje? meu deleite -Louis_.

If he hadn’t already been dreaming of how Louis might kiss him, he would know a lot of things.


	2. No One Else Is You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem. So. I am a bit late with posting this second half, I apologize for my inconvenient writer's block. Thank you to Bea, for being patient with me, and again to Cat, for helping me translate!

Two Years Later

Harry wakes up to a pair of lips kissing his cheek, and a warm voice whispering in his ear. “Awake yet, love?”

He simply hums through a lazy smile, turning and folding himself further into Louis’ warmth, nuzzling into his bare chest and feeling the soft hairs there tickle his nose. “Five more minutes.”

Louis huffs a quiet laugh, and Harry’s eyes are still closed. There’s a tram bell ringing somewhere distant, and Harry’s toes curl as he takes stock of the warmth along the line of his back where Louis had been pressed against him all night.

“You’re a lazy bum,” Louis tells him. “A no good bed hogger.”

“You love being the big spoon,” Harry mumbles softly, kissing a peck over Louis’ skin. “Now quiet, please.”

Louis lays back against the pillows in defeat, sighing and bringing a hand up to run through Harry’s sleep-tousled hair. “Do I at least get to know what you’re dreaming about?”

Harry winds his legs between Louis’, knocking their ankles together. “O adorável pénis do meu marido, como é claro.”

Husband. Fuck, he loves that word in every language.

“I love when you talk portuguese to me,” Louis tugs a little harder on his curls, making Harry jolt with a familiar shock of arousal, whispers of the night before creeping warmly up his spine. Louis’ tone is playful, his touch acute but gentle. “A lovely dream, hm?”

“Well it was,” Harry turns over in defeat, looking up at Louis with sleep-fogged eyes and lazy lips. The cerulean line of tiles that wraps around the folds of Louis' - or well, _their_ \- room reflect the muted sunlight streaming in through the open window. He can smell the flowers from Louis’ garden, can taste the salt of the sea in the air. “Before I was so rudely awakened.”

Louis chuckles and shakes his head before swooping in for a close-mouthed kiss. Harry’s heart melts the same way it always does. He absolutely cannot believe he’s married to this man, his favorite person in the whole world.

“Why don’t you recount it for me, _Mr. Tomlinson_.” Louis rasps in his ear.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry whines under his breath, feeling his cock give a dull pulse at the sound of his newly minted last name. He’d already been sporting a semi when he woke up - come to think of it, that might be why Louis was so adamant about waking him - but he can feel himself coming to full hardness now.

“That good, huh?” Louis says knowingly.

“Shut up,” Harry gasps as Louis rocks his hips into the nestle of Harry’s bum where they’re spooned together. “We’re on our honeymoon, I’m allowed to - _mmph_ \- to be a little more up for it.”

“Does it really count as a honeymoon if we’re waking up in our bed same as always?”

Harry will not have any of that. “Well, does us getting married even count if that fisherman you pulled aside was the one that read for us? With no witnesses? Without telling anyone?”

Louis makes a low noise in his throat, latching his lips onto Harry’s neck and sucking a shallow bruise there. “Definitely married. No questions asked. Not up for discussion.”

Harry hums through a smile, gasping as Louis nips at his ear. “Well, then... good.”

At this, Louis flips them so that Harry’s on his stomach, with Louis settled between his thighs and leaning forward to murmur in his ear. “Tão feliz por ser todo teu.” Harry’s breath falters, as it typically does when Louis switches over to portuguese, needless to say during Louis’ wedding vows yesterday he’d found it difficult to keep his hands to himself. “So happy, Harry.”

“Happy.” Harry echoes, all the warmth in the world trapped in his ribcage.

Louis shifts forward to kiss the corner of Harry’s eye lightly, and as he does Harry feels his cock settle between his own cheeks. “ _Lou_.”

“Wanna fuck you.” Louis rasps, breathing over the buzzing skin at the back of Harry’s neck.

Harry muffles a withering plea into the crook of his arm, nodding. Louis knows that Harry’s all but dead to the world in the morning - learned that by experience when he’d tried to bring Harry breakfast in bed once and had tripped on the way into the room, breaking the plate, stepping on the shattered ceramic plate, all without waking Harry. So he gets that he’s the one to do the talking from here on out, and Harry is thankful for it.

“Alright, but it’ll have to be quick, we’ve got places to be, sights to see today.” Louis muses, dancing his fingers over the muscles of Harry’s back, over his left shoulder blade where there’s a small set of numbers inked into his skin.

The same numbers as the address that reads on the front door of this flat, the same flat he’d met Louis in. The same flat he’d learned how to play guitar in. The same flat where Liam had come and told them all with his girlfriend by his side that they were having a child. Where Niall taught him how to properly write portuguese, and where Louis had kissed him countless times. The same flat where, on one April afternoon years ago now, Harry had kissed up Louis’ spine and whispered three simple words into his ear. The same flat where his life really began. The numbers he has are the same ones that Louis has scribed on his _right_ shoulder blade. A mirror set.

“Don’t want to keep the city waiting, do we?” Louis continues. “So I suppose you’d better be good.”

Harry has no idea how Louis is always able to keep his voice so steady while he’s falling apart and practically begging for it. He shoves his hips back so that his bum is snug against Louis’ hard on, wiggling a bit to try and tease him into giving in.

“Please, Lou.” He tries for his best bedroom voice, and as usual, ends up sounding like he’s squeaking it out. Target shot for and missed. He takes a different route to try and make up for it. “Pronto para te sentir.”

Louis breath does audibly catch at that, his hands coming up to hold Harry’s sides. “ _Baby_.”

Harry’s spine arches on its own accord at that. Fuck, he thought he might be able to keep it together, but Louis definitely just set the tone for them both.

“Please.” He reaches a hand out for Louis to hold, which he does instantly. When their fingers weave together Harry feels Louis’ ring knock against his, and shivers. Their rings aren’t anything fancy, both of them bought from a side street tourist shop that was nearby when Louis had spontaneously popped the question - Harry’s is a silver band with suns dotted all along the curves, and Louis’ is gold with waves cresting in a continuous line. Both of them fit perfectly.

It was out of the blue, but then again, so were they. Louis had tugged Harry against his chest and asked if he had any plans for the future. Harry had responded with a frown, muttering confusedly something along the lines of, “thinking about making baked yams tonight for dinner, why?”

Louis had only shaken his head, laughed and nervously kissed his chin, his cheek, running his hands up and down Harry’s biceps. “There’s nothing I want more,” he’d paused, another kiss to Harry’s chin.

“Than baked yams?” Harry’d been completely puzzled.

Louis had just looked back at him and let out something like a hysterical little laugh. Harry’s eyebrows had only furrowed more, because Louis didn’t usually get nervous around him, has only ever been anxious about big steps.

Their first kiss during Harry’s first year, after Harry had come back from being at home for Christmas - where he’d mostly only talked about how wonderful Louis was - Harry had joined Louis in his garden, their lips sealed together as fireworks had exploded overhead, proclaiming the new year. Or when Louis had first asked him out, properly, stammering out an invitation to go for a bike ride - after which they’d shared Pasteis de Belém and kisses - he had ducked his eyes before thrusting out a bouquet of daffodils and delphiniums in one hand, his whole heart held in the other. Harry had just stood their thumbing at the pastel petals and feeling his eyes mist over because Louis was scruffy and tattooed, but Louis was also nervous, and Louis was sweet, and Louis _always has been_.

When they’d made love for the first time, he’d kissed Harry’s eyelids, whispered praise in Harry’s ear as he’d moved inside him so slowly, hips rolling deep and skin glowing golden. He’d been just as breathless, just as awed of how good it was.

Harry’d felt something hopeful stir in his chest at all of those memories, “then… what? Zayn and Niall are flying in on Wednesday and I’ll be picking them up while you have rehearsal, but you already knew that-”

“No, Harry, just let me finish,” Louis had dropped his head against Harry’s collarbone, had taken a breath. “Your plans for the _future_ , because my plans, I mean, I really hope they’ll be _our_ plans, of course, but it’s your decision, of course it is, but we’ve been together for more than two years now, and I want,” Louis had had to breath for a quick second. “I want, well, what I want is-”

Harry had kissed his flustered lips, and Louis had calmed under his touch. When he’d pulled back it was to meet Louis’ eyes that were searching his, it was to whisper in the space between them, “just ask.”

Louis had then slowly dropped down onto one knee, his eyes searching upwards into Harry’s, open, honest, and so incredibly full of love. Harry had laughed out a sob, unable to contain everything inside of himself. Louis had laughed as well, bringing Harry’s hand up to his lips to plant a kiss there, then he’d looked up again and had taken a breath, nodding to himself.

“Harry Edward Styles,” he’d said each word like it was its own sentence. “I woke up this morning and you were snoring on my chest, and I looked down at the slope of your nose, and the way you were breathing so evenly, and I realized something that, really, I’ve known all along.”

Harry doesn’t know how he’ll look back years from now and tell this story to his children, to his grandkids, without crying.

“You are the love of my life.” Louis’ voice had cracked, and Harry had blinked for a moment and had seen the image of the man he’d first encountered coming out of the bathroom on that first day. The man who had made him feel wanted just from one single glance. “And I can’t go another day without asking you, without telling you that this where I am, and that this is how strongly I feel about us.”

Harry had knelt down in front of him then, so that he was holding Louis’ face between his shaking palms.

“God, Harry, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Louis had shook his head, eyes shimmering as Harry had felt a few tears slip down his cheeks. Louis had reached out to hold Harry’s hips. “I know that this is big, but we’ve always been honest with one another. So I’m being completely that with you right now.” His thumb had come up to brush under Harry’s eye, wiping aside another tear. “Eu amo-te,” he’d swallowed, completely Harry’s. “Will you marry me?”

Harry’s ring rolls against Louis’ now as his fingers tangle through Louis’ as Louis grinds against him. Their breathing is stilted, but heartbeats still calm enough.

“Yeah, Harry.” Louis kisses over his tattoo. “Always wanna give you what you want. Always.”

“Lou,” Louis’ name is one of Harry’s favorite words.

“Ready for fingers, baby?” Louis whispers against the shell of his ear.

All Harry can do is whine in response, arching his spine to say _yes_. Louis knows his body, every quiver and tremble. He can hear Louis hum as he dances his fingers over the crest of his bum, can almost feel the smirk that is inevitably curling up the edges of his lips.

“No, not yet.” Louis decides as Harry feels his own cock twitch. “You’re not good enough yet.”

“I’m good, I’m good, _promise_.” Harry tries to make himself make sense. _Please touch me, please, please, please_.

“Not yet, you aren’t.” Louis says, but his voice is dipping. Harry doesn’t know where he is, grasping for details until, oh fuck-

“Mmm,” Louis moans quietly, like it’s for himself, as he dives in and licks right against Harry’s hole.

Harry’s gone with the wind, he’s someplace higher than the moon, he’s a nebula. He’s an exploding star. Louis is a black hole, drawing him in and crushing him into oblivion. All with the twist of his tongue.

Louis’ lips move to press a sweet kiss on his left cheek before his tongue licks a broad stripe over the line of Harry’s arse. Louis’ hands are holding him apart as dives in time and again, and it could hours, days, Harry has no idea, before he can even register the sound of his own labored breathing.

“Taste so good, baby.” Louis’ voice is low, and Harry is flying past Saturn.

His thighs have begun to shake, the combined ache of _Louis_ and his need to come driving him further down the rabbit hole. Louis notices this, of course he does.

“Need it bad, huh?” He muses, right hand leaving his cheek to wrap around to his front. Louis’ warm fingers swirl between the soft hairs of his treasure trail, making Harry feel like he’s the most wonderful thing in Louis’ world. Louis draws himself up so that he’s draped over Harry’s back, bare cock fitted between his cheeks and sliding easily from the wetness Louis had left from his mouth. His lips are against Harry’s neck, kissing lightly before nibbled at the soft skin behind his ear. His left hand moves to Harry’s chest, settling over his heart. “Feel me, baby? How hard I am for you?”

Harry gasps as he manages to nod quickly, trying to bite his trembling lip between his teeth. It’s all so much, they’re married, Louis is _his_ , and he’s always felt so safe with him, so loved and protected. But this, their first married morning together, this is something Harry could only have dreamed of.

“ _Daddy_.” He whispers, voice breaking but full of everything.

Louis’ hips stutter as they roll into him, grinding against his hole. Louis leans forward just enough to draw Harry into a welcomed kiss, both of them panting into it, with Harry’s hips seeking more pressure, and the drag of Louis’ cock overwhelming his senses.

“Lube, baby.” Louis breathes, “can you get it for me?”

Harry nods eagerly, pecking Louis’ lips once more, not enough to be bad, but enough to tell Louis he’s close to being just a little under. He reaches to the nightstand and grabs the lube, pressing it to Louis’ waiting palm, earning him another kiss.

“Good boy,” Louis praises.

Harry twists his fingers in the sheets, which are still warm from their sleeping heat. Louis sucks a bruise into the juncture of his shoulder and neck, sending shivers down Harry’s legs and arms.

“You’re still a bit loose from last night, and now from my tongue,” Louis hums. “So we’ll start with two.”

Harry wants to plead for it, but all that escapes past his lips is a soft mewl. Something small, exactly like how he’s feeling. Louis’ fingers are slick as they swirl around his hole, Harry takes a shuddering breath at Louis’ pause, knowing that it’s a question. He nods as thoroughly as he can, rocking forward onto his elbows in anticipation.

Louis opens him up with practiced ease, somehow always finding a new twist, a new curl to his fingers that has Harry falling into pieces. Through it all he’s speaking praise, gentle words whispered into the cuts of Harry’s shoulder blades as he kisses everywhere. Soft murmurs of how good Harry is, how proud he is, how happy and lucky he is to have him. His boy. Two fingers becomes three, and Harry can feel his cock aching to be touched, sucked, or pinned against the sheets.

“Look at you,” Daddy says, voice close and breathy. “Ready for me, yeah?”

“Need you.” Harry’s body is humming on Daddy’s frequency now, he’s all his. “Inside, please, want to be messy.” Louis’ fingers dance over his skin. There’s fire there, and there, and there. “ _Por favor_.”

“Alright, baby,” Louis lines himself up, bare except for a coat of lube. His tip nudges against Harry’s hole, and that’s just enough to send Harry’s hips searching for more, begging where his words can’t. Louis stills him with a firm grip, not even hesitating before he whips a sharp spank against Harry’s right cheek.

“Oh, fuck,” is all he can say.

Louis’ hips are working his cock through Harry’s crack, stalling as Harry writhes from the rippling aftershocks of Daddy’s sharp hand. He’s gasping as Louis’ left hand tightens around his hip, he gives himself three slow, deep breathes before he nods. His hips still, but his mind most certainly does not.

“Good boy.” Louis repeats, although it makes Harry's chest rise all the same. He's a good boy.

It’s steady moments of bated breath and familiar heat as Louis finally fits himself inside of Harry, it’s like Harry’s first day in Lisbon all over again. The way he and Louis move together, it’s the storm that rolled in from the ocean last March, with winds so strong they tore off their neighbors shutters. It’s them riding bikes down cobblestone streets, Louis laughing as he smiled back at Harry over his shoulder while their teeth clacked together from the uneven pavement. It’s the September sun still burning just as hot over their backs as they ran Louis’ lines together in his garden, sweating despite the fact that according to England’s standards, summer had been long over. It’s intimate, it’s fire, it’s - for all that the word is misused in those portuguese soaps that Niall loves - passionate.

Louis keeps talking through it all, praise and truly sweet nothings. Harry trusts him so entirely, wouldn’t be able to give himself over like this if he didn’t. When they’re together like this in bed, with Louis taking control, which more often than not he is, Harry is focused only on one thing: how good they are together. Daddy loves him so much, worships him, even. And he’s Daddy’s boy, all holds barred.

“Yeah, Harry,” Louis breathes against the shell of his ear. His hands are cupped under Harry’s chest, fingers running along the smooth lines of his collarbones so he can feel every pulse, every thrust.

“Love you,” Harry sobs. “So much.”

Louis’ lips press to his shoulder as his hips stutter, cock pressing right into Harry’s spot, driving Harry’s own cock down into the soft sheets of their bed.

“I love you, Harry.” Louis moans into Harry’s skin as he comes, filling Harry up, messy and perfect. Harry’s hips buck at the feeling of being so entirely flooded by Louis, canting into the mattress as breath turns even more ragged - orgasm cresting over him as his cock shoots into the sheets. “Com todo o meu coração.”

Harry’s married to the love of his life.

~*~

“So what now?” Harry asks as they stand looking over the city below them.

“Now,” Louis says, shielding his eyes from the sun before turning to look back at him. “We plan our second wedding.”

It’s late in the day now, with their bellies full of Italian ice, their fingers twined together. There’s a pleasant breeze blowing through the air, cooling the heat that beats off the São Jorge castle walls. They’re retracing Harry’s first tour through the city, and he can remember the way the light had traced Louis’ cheekbones in this very spot two years ago like it was yesterday.

Harry looks back at him, in his worn in green hoodie and black jean shorts. They’re both so happy, and he can tangibly feel it. “Oh really?”

“Can’t imagine our families would be too keen on missing out on a ceremony.” Louis shrugs, “besides, Niall and Zayn’ll be right pissed to come home from their honeymoon to find that they weren’t included, especially after we were best men at theirs.”

“All good points.” Harry nods. “But you don’t fool me.”

Louis’ eyebrows knit together as he opens his mouth to protest, but Harry beats him to it, kissing him quick.

“I know you wanna do it all again for us.” He says in the space between their mouths, the tourists taking pictures around them be damned. “Just as much as I do.”

Louis’ eyes search his for a moment before he ducks into a blushing smile, something unusual for him, as he’s almost always open with his emotions. Harry kisses his chin, relishing the feeling of Louis’ stubble against his cheek. Two years ago he’d wondered what that exact sensation would feel like, he smiles at the thought of it.

Louis tucks himself into Harry’s side, their hands still holding onto one another. Harry feels the breeze rustle through his curls. “Largo de Santo Antonio.”

“Hm?” Louis questions.

“That’s where I want to have it.” Harry tells him. “Right in the middle of the square, with white chairs and flowers from the garden. Simple.”

Louis draws back enough to look up at him, a glint in his eyes. “That sounds perfect, babe.” He kisses a light peck against Harry’s throat. “And we can use your polaroid photos, have one on each of the chairs with our names handwritten on the bottom, together.” Harry’s stomach is fluttering. “And the black and white series you did when Niall opened the bar, we can use those ones of the city lights for the invitations!”

“You’ve given this some thought.” Harry can barely say it without kissing him.

Louis shakes his head, free hand curled into the fabric of Harry’s red and black unbuttoned vest, thumb tracing the lines of his chest as the shirt is completely open. “I love getting married to you.”

Harry does kiss him at that. “That woman from your theatre company could read our vows, she told me at that party last month that she’s certified.”

“You were _asking_ people about it?” Louis seems a bit startled. “Even back then?”

“Wanted to have my bases covered,” he shrugs again. “I’ve been saving up the money from the photos I’ve sold, too. So we don’t have to worry.”

“ _Harry_.” Louis breathes, and Harry’s overwhelmed but so, so ready.

“I love you.” He says, squeezing Louis’ hand. “And I’m so glad I decided to take a chance on Lisbon.”

“On me.” Louis says quietly, voice full of forever. “Me too.”

Harry pulls him in now, close and sure. _Para sempre_ , he thinks with a full heart. There are gulls crying with the sound of the wind overhead, and the sounds of the city coming to life below them, but all Harry can hear is the sound of Louis’ heartbeat steady against his own.

**  
**

**Author's Note:**

> A few links for you to round out your experience with this fic: 1. The poem by Tyler Knott Gregson that Harry quotes can be found right [here](http://tylerknott.com/post/102630238252/typewriter-series-962-by-tyler-knott-gregson), and 2. If you’d like to see a few sights of Lisbon for yourself [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjtvE1Lt-fM) is a great video tour. 
> 
> Comments, kudos, and feedback are all greatly appreciated! You can find me on tumblr as darkerwings and on twitter @darkerwings, I'd love to speak to you about how Louis is Harry's peach and Harry is Louis' strawberry banana and how they're both just two fruits in love.


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